


Question Why (Don't Question Why)

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Dare, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindsay's sneaky with a camera, Michael's accepting dumb dares, and Gavin's confused until he says something surprisingly wise. All in all, another day at Rooster Teeth. (Except for the part where it's night and they're at home)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Question Why (Don't Question Why)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alyaludi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyaludi/gifts).



> Vaguely set after On The Spot #4. Set in an AU where Gavin and Meg didn't meet, because if she was around I'd have to write a foursome.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYACTA!

Michael’s used to terrible people asking him to do stupid things. He works at Rooster Teeth, for fucksakes, and before that he was a teenage boy in a high school broish enough that he went by Jones for four years. He’s only slightly less used to his wife being that terrible person. Lindsay is a BAMF who likes people to suffer just as much as Geoff or Burnie does. The only reason she has less on her tally is because he’s known her a shorter amount of time.

This stupid thing is new, though.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Michael demands.

“Because I dared you? Come on, at least you won’t vomit, like half the shit Gav’s dared you.”

“Eating five pounds of gummy bear is a fuck of a lot less mentally scarring than kissing Gavin.”

“I didn’t say kiss. I said make out. None of the bullshit that Miles pulled on Kerry last week.”

Michael crosses his arms, rubber merch bracelet sliding awkwardly under his elbow. “You realise that makes it even less likely that I’m gonna say yes, right? That making the terms harder doesn’t help?”

“Something’s harder,” she replies with an over the top leer.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Look, he’ll be back in five seconds. Do it and I’ll... I dunno. Think of some sort of IOU later, just do it. Don’t be an asshole.”

Michael is pretty damn positive that when most married men get honey-do lists, they don’t get peer pressured to boot. Then again, most men probably marry boring as fuck women, not amazing trolls.

“Fine, whatever. Get your phone out.”

Lindsay already has it out, but she knows what Michael means. She sets it to start recording, then shoves it and her hand under the blanket. That way she’s got a buffer either way; she can pull it back out and start filming nearly instantly if Michael goes right for it, or she can not arouse suspicion if he waits a minute. Or, technically, she can waste a lot of battery if he bitches out. He won’t, though. It’s the Jersey embedded in his soul, he doesn’t wuss out when he’s committed. Rage quit, maybe, but Michael Jones does not go whimpering into that good night.

Gavin comes out of the bathroom in a wake of air freshener. Michael can practically see it like a fog around him. Half the cans that they go through are probably Gavin’s. For a guy that plays video games and records instants of events for a living, he sure the fuck has slow fingers when they’re on depressors. He can’t be trusted around compressed air or fountain drinks at fast food places either.

“So now that my entire place smells like a field of lilacs, you ready to watch whatever dumb crap Lindsay’s going to put on?”

“Fuck you buddy,” Lindsay replies, hand not on the hidden phone flipping him off. “I won the dice, so sit and suffer.”

Michael has to admit that’s true. He threw and she won. According to house rules he needs to shut his piehole.

“It’s not fair though,” Gavin protests. “I’m only on it once. My chances are like twenty percent lower!”

“Nice math,” Michael starts. “Learn that from Burnie? Also, it goes Michael Michael Lindsay Lindsay Guest Gavin. You get a name on the Netflix dice and you don’t even pay any part of the fucking bill, so shut the hell up.”

Gavin, surprisingly, shuts the hell up and heads for the couch without making a detour to fuck with the tv or try to take the remote from Lindsay. Good boi, Michael thinks. Lindsay could easily kick his ass. He plops down on his side of the couch; the right. The spot is his for two reasons. The first is tradition. Gavin always sits to the right, on the Podcast and in the office and in restaurants. It would be weird if that changed in only one place. The second reason is that the left cushion is closer to the armchair that Lindsay likes best. If she sits at an angle Michael can curl his fingers around her ankle and have Gavin by his side. Best of both worlds.

It does make it a bit more difficult for the dare though. If he jumps onto Gav, all she’ll get on the camera is the back of his head. His beanie’s nice, but nothing special enough to deserve a filmed close up.

Ten minutes into Michael’s approximately fiftieth rewatch of Fantastic Four: The Silver Surfer, Michael stretches out his leg and prods Gavin with his toes. “Get me a glass of water.”

Gavin snorts. “Get your own.”

“Don’t be lazy, boi. Water me!”

“I’ll water you with my _knob_ ,” he replies.

“Gimme water now and I’ll do some of your Minecraft editing,” Michael offers. Like hell will he actually do any Minecraft editing, but that’s an argument for tomorrow. And that’s only if Gavin demands he stick to the deal, which Michael figures is about 40/60. Gavin is possessive about some things, and making sure the Minecraft Lets Plays are perfect before posting is important to him.

“Less than a minute of favour versus six times several hours of footage. Hmmm, what could I possibly choose?”

As Gavin disappears into the kitchen, Michael nods his head at his wife. It’s now or never, and never doesn’t sit well on his chest when there’s honour on the line. Honour and an as of yet unspecified reward from Lindsay. So it’s now, basically. 

Michael judges the next few moments carefully. He needs to get the timing perfect. Gavin gets too close and he’ll get hurt. Not close enough and Lindsay will still have a bad angle. He’s a human Phantom camera, slicing seconds with a hair knife. But finally it’s right. Gavin is sighing at what he thinks is inattention and gesturing the holographic Slurpee cup at him as much as he can without spilling water over the edge. 

Michael doesn’t apologise and take the cup. He launches out of his seat and tackles Gavin. The man squawks, a great intro to Lindsay’s recording. The cup goes flying, the cup Michael knew would be plastic, not glass, and when it hits the carpet the water starts soaking in instantly. Water, not anything that’ll leave a stain that will come out of their deposit, should they ever move.

“Why,” Gavin moans. “Michael, why?”

“Because, you idiot. Because this,” Michael snaps back informatively before shoving his lips onto Gavin’s. They’re half parted already, no doubt Gav was about to bitch and moan some more. Michael has a better use for that space. 

After giving Gavin a moment to realise what the new situation is, Michael slips his tongue between the parted flesh. Gavin’s mouth stays slack and Michael has a moment to feel disappointment, not enough time to justify the emotion as it being for not being able to give Lindsay what she wants, before Gavin’s moving in other ways. His arms go from spread eagle to shoving at Michael’s shoulders. Michael’s not quite ready to unpin the skinnier man, but he does raise his head to look him in the eye.

“What,” he demands flatly.

“What are you on about, what? You have a bloody wife!”

“Bloody wife is filming for posterity, thanks,” Lindsay comments from above.

“Happy Hour’s with Geoff and Griffon, remember?” Gavin whines.

Michael doesn’t know why it feels like he’s been kneed in the stomach. Gavin’s knees aren’t anywhere near his stomach, one’s digging into Michael’s thigh and Gav’s other is as spread wide as his arms used to be. It’s a dumb, misleading, bullshit feeling.

“You’ve kissed Geoff?” Michael asks. He shouldn’t be surprised. Gavin’s put his pubes in Griffon’s armpit. He’s been paddled by Geoff. There’s no reason to be surprised that Griffon’s filmed them kissing. Colour him totally un-fucking-surprised. “When’s that video go up?”

“No, you mong. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Because they’re _married_. Know who else is bloody married?”

Of every shitty thing he’s done, this Gavin decides to get on a high horse about? “It’s a dare, you complete idiot. Calm your shit down.”

“Sort of,” Lindsay says.

Michael frowns. What the fuck does sort of mean? Usually he gets her, can finish her unfinished sentences, can tell when she’s about to have a night terror from posture alone. But those two words don’t make sense to him. He gets up, sits half on his calves and half on Gavin. It’s not exactly a comfortable position, but comfort isn’t his most important factor right now. Michael needs to be able to look at her without letting Gavin run out of the apartment and avoid texts for days.

“The fuck do you mean sort of?”

“Well, okay. It was a dare. But it was a dare with reason?”

“Go on,” Michael says through gritted teeth. He hates when people get one over on him.

“It was to... assess compatibility.” Lindsay finishes in almost a question. Michael doesn’t buy it. She set this up, she knows what she meant.

“What are you on about?”

“I love you, but you’re stupid.”

“Uh, which one of us did you mean?” Love you’s more him oriented, but stupid’s obviously more Gavin.

Lindsay makes a face. “Both of you! I know exactly what the conversation we’re going to have is going to be like, because you both suck. And I figured why have it if I don’t even know if you’re sexually compatible? Except you just ruined that plan completely. Which is especially annoying because you’re not even compatible! So instead of win-lose it’s lose-lose. Assholes.”

“We’re assholes because you wanted to see if we could have a threesome without actually saying the word threesome?” Michael clarifies. “I dunno, kinda sounds like you’re the asshole.”

“You’re both arseholes for ambushing me. I think you broke my spine,” Gavin whines.

Michael rolls his eyes and stands up. Fuckin’ wuss. He throws himself back into his seat, his normal, routine seat. He’s determined to be normal about this. He won’t think about the way Gavin’s skin smelled, or how if he’d adjusted slightly they might have rubbed dicks. He won’t think about the argument he and Lindsay are going to fall into in two hours once Gavin leaves and the room feels empty. He’s just going to watch the Silver Surfer and be _normal_.

Gavin gets off the carpet and carefully avoids the carpet wet spots as he shuffles to stand with his calves against Lindsay’s ottoman. “So what you’re saying is you care about more than sexual fitting together, but you thought we’d muck up talking about it, so you were gonna force it through after seeing if we wanted to roger?”

“With less bullshit made up British words, but yes.”

“So what you’re saying is you want me to be your kept boy, special roommate, groomsman with a wink, and you think me blowing Michael and eating you out is best done before you say that?”

Lindsay blushes. Michael watches Lindsay blush, and tries not to think about why he’s not getting all New Jersey aggro at Gavin like he would anyone hitting on Lindsay at a club. It shouldn’t be any different to him, a co-worker versus a stranger. Right? Fuck it, not thinking about it.

“So what you’re saying is-”

“Stop fucking saying that!” Michael snaps.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Gavin replies, though he’s still looking at Lindsay. “Talking is dumb. We both know what we want.” 

In a move as quick as lightning, Gavin is crawling onto Michael’s lap. It’s a weight Michael’s had on him a hundred times before, Gavin’s always dicking around like an idiot. This time it’s different though, because Gavin’s not trying to pull off his beanie and toss it to Ray, or give him a tittie twister, or steal the last copy of a game he wants for Go!. Gavin’s holding his head still, and Gavin’s kissing him, and Michael’s lips are parted and Gavin’s still kissing him, and Michael’s not sure if Lindsay’s filming but he doesn’t really care because this feels like more than he thought it would. Not like a stupid dare completed in order to earn some lingerie wearing or pegging with the dildo that Michael loves that does nothing for Lindsay. This is an extension of cleaning up after a night hanging out and finding something Gavin’s left and not bothering to give it back at work because Gavin will be over again soon enough. That’s a brief, fleeting warmth. This is longer, as long as Gavin’s hand stays on his nape.

Maybe Lindsay and Gavin aren’t wrong. Maybe this could be something good. Something that could last. Or at least it feels like that, as long as Gavin keeps kissing him.


End file.
